


Meant

by i_gaze_at_scully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cancer Arc, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_gaze_at_scully/pseuds/i_gaze_at_scully
Summary: A mini cancer-arc-marriage drabble series inspired by words from the 2019 Fictober prompts over on tumblr.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 5





	1. Blue

_Something old._  
Perhaps the black blood caked under her nose. Or that pen she tossed - it ran out of ink as she journaled. There are more pages left, though. In the journal.

 _Something new._  
The feeling of Mulder wrapped around her, warm and sleeping.

 _Something borrowed._  
Time.

 _Something blue._  
He brings a sweatshirt to the hospital. “Only blue I could find that wasn’t a pair of jeans or a tie you’d hate,” he laughs. The priest even gives a sad smile that flips Scully’s stomach. She chokes on her “I do,” but Mulder’s steady as ever, there till the last.


	2. Swap

“You ready?” He offers a pile of folded clothes and a bouncing leg. She resurrects her smile and takes the clothes, her clothes, to go change. As the hospital gown hits the floor, she pulls on worn jeans that she never thought she’d see again. She swaps tacky hospital socks for her favorite woolen ones and her eyes water.

Mulder’s pacing, sheepish, when she emerges, but his face mirrors her renaissance.

“Thank you,” she understates.

“Have you checked the pockets?” He sticks his hands in his.

It’s a simple band, subtle gold. Wrapped around it, a note:

_I meant it._


	3. Travel

Scully never wanted a destination wedding. Something small. In indulgent moments, she’d be married by the sea. The strong sea crashing against blackened rocks, not soft and lapping at her heels on the beach. All she’d ever wanted was close family and friends there. No fuss, no travel, no stress.

“Mulder…”

“I know it isn’t what you wanted. This,” he motions to the room. “This.” He points between them. Her mouth opens in protest.

“I’d get it,” he finishes. She rolls her neck in conflicted empathy, her eyebrows knitting together.

“What do you want?” He asks.

The silence is deafening.


	4. Tread

There is no annulment. She keeps the ring. They dance around each other like magnets affixed to a top. Attract, attract, attract, repel. Repeat. It is less a steady spin and more a tumultuous careening towards (and away from) something mighty. Electric. Terrific - terrifying. He treads lightly, she demands more. He fishtails, swerves to avoid collisions. They come back again and again.

He did mean it.

When she shows up with (on) a silver platter, he balks. 

That is your wife. A thought as he’s greeted by the muggy Florida night. He stops at that, reconsiders.

He goes back in.


	5. Ignite

First thing he notices is her stockinged feet, next her furrowed brows. Third, the empty bottle. His heart somersaults.

“Mulder?” She slowly, concertedly places the platter on the nightstand.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he blurts, shucking his coat. “I’m an idiot.”

She pulls her feet under her, crosses her arms, leaves his half apology hanging fragrantly.

“Why did you come back?”

_To stop the car, to pull you out of it and step into the calm of night together._

“Because I don’t want to run anymore.”

Two steps to her, two palms on her cheeks, two lips parting.

 _Heaven, here_.


End file.
